Flash of Insight
by Nea's world
Summary: The Queen has died, and her family is left to pick up the pieces of their own hearts, and help return a sense of stability to the Kingdom, without losing part of themselves. A flash of insight helps.


Legolas sighed in irritation and resignation both when his father turned to him with a brow quirked. He shook his head. "Father, I really don't think this is right."

They'd long discussed the pros and cons of arranging a match for him… but Legolas was very young, and knew his arguments weren't given the weight they would have been, were he older.

He wasn't even of full height yet. Well, he certainly hoped he wasn't done growing. He'd heard it could happen, rarely—there was a human in the river town who was never going to get any taller than Legolas was now. Of course, Legolas had shown no signs that the growth spurt he'd recently gotten that had nearly brought the royal seamstress to tears was about to end. He'd grown over a foot in the course of two seasons, and could finally reach all of the rope systems without standing on a box or tiptoe.

"Legolas, the Kingdom needs stability. Knowing that there is not only an heir, but plans have been made for the future will put them at ease. Immortal I am, but not invincible."

"Da," Legolas remanded sharply, crossing his arms tightly over his chest.

"You met her?" Thranduil asked quickly, as little liking the thought as did his son.

"Aye," the young prince sighed, before shaking his head. "She doesn't interest me."

"You are young."

"Yes, I am young—too young, I think."

"Legolas—"

"Mother…" He sighed and closed his eyes, taking a long moment. "She…" he cleared his suddenly tight throat. "She told me that she knew, when she first looked at you. She just knew that you were her path."

The King softened for a long moment, resting a hand on his only child's shoulder. "I know. It is not common, my son, and you must not count upon it. Many are quite happy with their spouse without ever having had that flash of insight."

Legolas shook his head. "Happy, perhaps. But are they sure they could not have been happier? There are different ways to love, and you can be happy in any case… but happy enough for eternity?"

"Legolas, you are young. Such concerns do not befit one of so few years."

"As I've been arguing—so let go of this thought, Ada. I _am_ far too young—I'm not even fifty! The youngest any are wed is nearly eight hundred years. I could learn a lot in seven hundred years—I might even get my own flash of insight."

Thranduil sighed, and shook his head. "For the Kingdom…"

Legolas locked his eyes onto his father's as he had not done since his mother's death. "For your son?"

Thranduil was caught in that sapphire gaze for several minutes before he looked away. The pain of his wife's death was still too close, too near, to stand seeing her eyes on their son. The eyes were too knowing, too old for the lad's years. The pain of his short life had aged his mind and soul before his body matured—very unusual, for an elf. Her eyes had been so knowing, had always seen right into him, through him. He hadn't noticed Legolas having that trait… but many things had changed in the last months.

Slowly he nodded. "Very well, Legolas. You may stop…" he couldn't come up with a word. Trapping? Compelling? Guilting? When he looked back, Legolas' eyes were again slightly averted.

He understood why his son had been doing that, and the gesture touched and tortured him. Legolas should not know that the eyes gifted him caused Thranduil pain, being so like his departed wife's, should not even have thought of it, nor considered averting his eyes merely to help spare Thranduil a little pain.

After all, Thranduil had lost a wife.

Legolas had lost his mother, his teacher, his playmate, and his only friend. The life of royal children was one of seclusion, save those of proper blood, and there were none of those in any supply, really, save one child many years younger who had been with family in Lothlorien, returning perhaps some time in the future.

Thranduil didn't even know the child's name or gender… Though he was sure the Queen had.

Legolas let out a slow sigh of relief, the muscles in his shoulders and neck relaxing. He offered Thranduil a slight smile, and turned to leave, when a small bundle came careening into the room, barreling into his legs.

The impact came in the midst of his stride, and so managed to bowl him over.

Thranduil's wide eyes watched the tumble, saw his son being partially covered by another being and started to move, when he heard a soft giggle.

"Sorry," a small voice said, before layers of clothing shifted until leggings appeared, working free of several layers of skirt so the little girl could get to her feet. She then bent down, grabbed one of the stunned prince's hands, and pulled.

She was far too small to do more than make his shoulder jolt slightly off of the floor, so Legolas waited for her to let go, then sat up himself. "Where were you going in such a hurry?" he asked, one brow lifted.

"I have to see the Prince," she stated primly, before frowning, her eyes darkening as sadness wrote itself across her face. "I have to tell him I'm sorry."

"For what?" He shifted into a crouch, studying her closely. His eyes widened, entire body stilling for a moment as shock played across his face.

She tilted her head to the side, blinked curiously, and then answered him. "Queenie died," she said, quietly, shifting her weight back and forth on youthfully impatient feet. "I promised her we'd have a picnic together when we got back, just the three of us. She said the prince would enjoy it, and now it can't happen." She stopped moving, and bit her lip, looking earnestly up at him. "And it's gotta be hard, being all alone. I've only got Margol, myself, and he's good… but he's just a stuffed rabbit, and they aren't very talkative." She was looking at her bare toes, and so missed Legolas' swift smile. "I wanted to say I was sorry for that, too… but maybe I shouldn't." She peered up at him again, and started swaying forwards and back, up on her toes and back to her heels, her hands clutched behind her back. "Momma says people don't want people to be sorry for them. I don't want to hurt his feelings."

"You knew the Queen?" Legolas asked, his voice roughened.

She nodded, so vigorously she started to topple over, but Legolas caught her even as she caught herself with small hands on his shoulders. "I really liked her. She liked me too—she said so." She smiled up at him proudly, then frowned and tilted her head. "You've got the same eyes."

He swallowed. "I know," he agreed.

"But sadder." She reached up, laying her palm against his cheek, almost as if to hold him still.

He didn't trust his voice, simply nodded.

"Why?" she asked, so quietly.

He closed his eyes, and swallowed. "My best friend just died… my only friend, really."

Suddenly there were arms around his neck—she'd thrown herself against him in a hug that knocked him back onto his rear. "I'm sorry," she whispered so earnestly into his ear.

"It's not your fault."

"It doesn't have to be my fault for me to be sorry," she countered, drawing back. She was a pinch taller than he was, this way, and she studied him for a long moment before her eyes lit up. She bit her lip. "Maybe… maybe I could be your friend? You could be mine, too—that way we'd both have someone."

"What about Margol?"

"He's a good rabbit—he likes lots of people. More than I do, really."

Legolas smiled, and slowly nodded. "I'd like that. Especially if you would be willing to tell me about my… about the queen."

"You don't know your Mom?" she asked, frowning.

"What?" he asked, startled.

"Well… you've got Queenie's eyes. She said the prince had them. So… aren't you the prince?"

He smiled ruefully. "I am."

"Are you really gonna get married?"

"Someday, I suppose." He made his way back to his feet, and looked down at the small girl.

"Soon?"

"Not for centuries."

"Oh. Good."

"Good?" he asked, brow quirking.

"Yeah. When you get married, we won't be friends, right?"

Legolas tilted his head, studying her. He gently traced a path from crown to chin, before brushing his thumb back over her cheek. "We shall have to wait and see." An unconscious smile crept onto his lips. "We may be a lot more."


End file.
